Half Kittykat Half Laugh
by Trampy Mouse
Summary: It is the diary of Dave and Georgia's daughter Beth when she is 15. She is vair like Georgia but she isn't her clone. Full of Luuurve and Aggers, spesh my fave aggers! Plot will get better once it gets into the story. Enjoy!xx
1. Juggling With Knives

**This is my other idea which I said I'd write before I write Back onto the Horns of the watsit (For the Gird Series). It is done from the Dave and Georgia's daughter, Bethan's point of view. She is a bit like Gee but as the story develops, you'll start to see that her personality is a bit different- there is a major point to that!! But I can't tell you why! **

**I wasn't going to post this yet, but I am paranoid encase anyone comes up with the same idea.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the original characters (i.e. Dave, Georgia) but I do own Bethan, her mates, siblings, etc. oh, and I own the plot. **

**Hope you like!**

* * *

**Juggling With Knives**

_**Christmas Day**_

_**5.00am**_

I will never understand, this side of the grave, why Dad thinks it is acceptable to barge into my room at the crack of dawn, shout "MERRY CHRISTMAS!!" and then run out. Like a loon. A loon wearing a Father Christmas Hat. In Pyjamas. Good Grief.

_**2 minutes later**_

Does he want to give me a heart attack?

_**1 minute later**_

I really don't see the point in Christmas. In fact, I hate it with a passion.

_**5.15am**_

Does anyone in Châteaux Bonkers understand the meaning of privacy?? Seemingly not. Mum came dawdling into my room too. Why don't they just take the door off and be done with it??

I told her that, I said, "Why don't you just take the door off my room so it is free passage for all? You barge in, Dad barged in, is this the barge-in patrol?"

Mum said, "It's Christmas. Your Dad is just a little excited,"

It is pathetico in a grown man.

_**2 minutes later**_

It is not even snowing. What is the point of that? Why do they make Christmas cards with snow on and it never snows at Christmas? Why?

_**1 minute later**_

Dad just barged into Harry's room. There was a muffled yelp of pain so I think Harry threw his football boot at him.

Serves him right.

_**6.00am**_

I went downstairs. It was like a nightmare of streamers and fairy lights. I can only presume my responsible loons were drunk when they decorated. It is like Santa's Grotto. Especially since Dad is still wearing his Christmas hat.

The Loons had already begun the present unwrapping session without me. They must care about me so much.

I went into the kitchen to make myself a coffee.

_**2 minutes later**_

Do I have a sticker on my back saying: "Please follow me?" Do I? Because Mum followed me into the kitchen. Hasn't she got anything better to do?

She said, "Aren't you going to open your pressies?"

I said, "What is the point? I know I have not got anything I want,"

She said, "What do you want?"

OH! The list is ENDLESS!!

**1.**A new nose, preferably half the size of the gigantibus conk I have to lug around now. Why in the name of pantyhose did Mum have to pass on her Huge Hooter Gene to me? She is so selfish.

**2.**Growth Tablets. It's getting to the 'Is it a mouse? Is it an ant? No it's Bethan!!' stage. I blame Dad entirely for that one. Why did he have to be on the short side of things? Couldn't he have been tall? But then again, Mum is quite tall and I may have ended up like a female giant. I want to be taller, but not too tall. The right amount of talliness.

**3.**A boyfriend. But for that to happen I will have to have the first two sorted out. No boy wants a girl that is a walking nose and little else.

**4.**Million Pounds for spendaroonies. It is like trying to rob a bank getting money out of Mum and Dad. How am I supposed to live on five pounds a week? It bet they wore wheat-a-bix packets when they were younger.

**5.**A one way ticket to Hollywood. So I can show the world my fabby singing talents. And then it would be Bye-Bye Loonland and Hello Stardom.

Of course I couldn't say this to Mum. She doesn't know what hopes and dreams are. And that is the sadnosity of her life.

_**3 minutes later**_

In the end the elderly insane dragged me to open my presents.

_**1 minute later**_

I have got a huge make up kit-type watsit of Mum. Why? She knows I don't wear more make up than I can help. It is like a recipe for lurkers.

I said, "Mum, I don't wear make up,"

And she said, "You will one day,"

Yes, when I am at the end of my life like her so I need not worry about dressing like a prostitute. I said, "No I won't Mum. I don't like the prostitute look like you,"

She ignorez-voused me and started to try and promote the bit and bobs to me, she said, "Look, Foundation, that covers up blemishes and spots and makes your skin look perfect,"

I said, "Blemishes? Spots? Are you suggesting my skin is not perfect mum?"

She went into a huff with me and pretended to care whether Baby Ben was eating sellotape or not.

Dad got me a few tops. Which are actually quite nice, shock horror. Just a shame that they are ten sizes too big for me.

_**2 minutes later**_

Harry has made me something at Primary School. And that is literally what it is. A something. I have no idea what it is supposed to be.

Still, it's the thought that counts. Ish.

_**9.00am**_

I swear if Dad sings 'Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer' or 'We wish you a Merry Christmas' one more time; I will be forced to strangle him.

_**5 minutes later**_

Right. That does it. He is singing 'Jingle Bells' at the top of his lungs. It is certainly not him I get my singing talents from.

I went downstairs and it was like Loon City, Arizona. The whole house had gone mad as a hatter. Two hatters. Mum was doing her 'Viking Dancing' (i.e. Twit Dancing) and Harry was doing what he fondly imagined was grooving (it wasn't). And Dad was prancing around, swinging Baby Ben around in some mad dance. Ben was giggling like an excited earwig. Uh-Oh.

_**1 minute later**_

Hahahahahaha. Ben was sick all over Dad!! All this disgusting mushed up baby stuff was all over dad's Christmas hat. Erlack, Erlack!!

Serves him right for swinging Ben around though.

Hilarious.

_**6 minutes later**_

Phoned Sophie when the Proverbial Loons disappeared into the kitchen.

I said, "Soph, it is like Bedlam here. Dad is wearing a Christmas Hat,"

She said, "Is it red with a bobble on it?"

"Yes,"

"Oh my God,"

"I know,"

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do,"

"Are you sure?"

"Soph?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up,"

_**2 minutes later**_

Turns out it is Bedlam at House Jennings as well.

She said, "But we don't have fairy lights on our tree,"

I said, "Really? Ours looks like it's glowing with the amount on it. How come?"

She said, putting on a stupid voice, "Because it wastes electricity or apparently,"

I said, "I am surprised ours hasn't short circuited the entire city. Or collapsed because of the weight of the baubles on it,"

She said, "Your house is rather like a mental institute, only not so normal,"

Oh lovely! But I was too full of the spirit of Christmas to say anything so I said, "Come over, then, and save me from going mad,"

Sophie said, "I can't because I have Auntie Lindsay and Uncle Robbie around,"

I said, "Is Lindsay wearing high heels?"

Sophie said, "Yes, seven-inches. Serious Mutton dressed as Lamb Alert,"

I said, "Its disgraceful how so-called adults let themselves go. She's even older than my mum!"

At which point mum heard and went ballisiticisimus. I cannot help it if she found her first grey hair the other day.

_**10.00am**_

Oh Poo and also as our Froggie type chums would say _MERDE_! We have the relative-visiting-type larks too. Fabby. Not.

_**2 minutes later**_

I said to Dad, "Do I have to go?"

He pulled a face and said, "_I_ have to,"

I said, "Yes, but you married into this family. I didn't ask to be born into it. I only am here because you and Mum- erm, anyway, why do I have to go?"

He ruffled my hair like I was Harry's age and said, "Aw, come on. Be a sport, just for today,"

I pulled my 'I really don't want too, more than I really don't want you to call me 'sport'' so he sighed and finished lacing up Baby Ben's booties and then said, "If there was money that could potentially change from my hands to yours, how much would the price of you going over be? I am open to an offer,"

What in the name of Pantibus is he on about?

I said, "What in the name of Pantibus are you on about?"

Dad said, "It would be on the sly of course, but I only have three conditions. One is that you go and see Connie and Bob and cheer up for Christmas. Two is that your Mum doesn't hear any of this and thinks you are going over of your own choice,"

I said, "And three?"

"You stop pulling that sulky face. I didn't give you my good looks for nothing, you know,"

Shut up. Does he think he can bribe me to spend half my life in the Boredom Centre?

I said, "You can't bribe me, Dad,"

_**4 minutes later**_

"A tenner is all I'm offering,"

"Twenty,"

"Ten,"

"Twenty,"

"Fine then, fifteen,"

"Twenty,"

"Fifteen,"

"Nineteen,"

"Sixteen,"

"Seventeen,"

Dad said, "Yes, ok, seventeen squids,"

I said, "Twenty,"

_**1 minute later**_

I got the twenty squidaroonies.

I said, "It's a pleasure doing business with you, dad,"

_**2 minutes later**_

My pockets are happily jangling with money. Hmmm. What can I spend this on?

_**Nicolson Household**_

_**11.00am**_

It is literally The Mad House here. The door was opened by Granny Connie, who, may I add, is as deaf as two short deaf things. And literally has breasts like two over-inflated shopping bags. Even larger than Mum's; and that is saying something. I really hope that I won't inherit their breasty-type gene.

They gave each other a hug but I think it was more like who could knock the other over with their basoomas. Harry had been standing by Mum and nearly got crushed to death. He came running over to us and whispered to me, "Erlack! I was nearly squashed between Mum and Granny's boobs!"

I said, "You will have to enjoy it, Harry. It will be the only womanly touches you will ever get,"

But Dad gave me his idea of the 'parent' look' (i.e. raising his eyebrows until they nearly disappear into his hair line. I think he likes to think it is ironic when he does that. It isn't. It just makes him look like a twit)

I told him that, "You look like a twit, dad,"

He said, "Then it's such a shame you inherited that then, isn't it?"

Cheeky cat.

_**4 minutes later**_

Gran has decided to cook us Christmas Lunch which means I will probably get food poisoning. But of course she wanted to pester me first.

She said, "Oh look how much you've grown!"

I said, shooting Dad the meanest look I could muster when having my cheeks pulled, "Hardly. I'm so short,"

She said, "You what?"

I had to speak up and say, "HARDLY! I'M SO SHORT,"

She said, "Sorry, didn't quite catch that,"

"HARDLY!! I'M SO SHORT!!"

"What?"

It is like talking to someone with no ears.

Mum said, "She said; hardly, I'm so short,"

"Pardon, love?"

Then Granddad Bob yelled, "FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, CONNIE!!! SHE SAID; HARDLY, I'M SO SHORT!!!"

She heard that time, she said, "Oh, sorry. You know, I think my hearing is going,"

You think?

Granddad said, "Yes, we know that! Can you pass me the ruddy remote?"

Gran said, "Pardon?"

Which I thought was hilarious to the extreme.

_**Midday**_

Auntie Libby has turned up. Marvy. Not.

I said to Mum, "I thought she was supposed to in prison still,"

She said, "Oh no, she's on community service now,"

Of course.

_**3 minutes later**_

I think Auntie Libby is psychologically unstable. And I think the adults think so too. I swear Dad shifted Baby Ben away from her when she sat next to him.

_**5 minutes later**_

God, this is so boring. Why can't the adults hurry up and get drunk so I can sneak off?

_**1 minute later**_

Mum is helping in the kitchen which I think is a mistake. We might as well have two poisoners on Cooking-Duty.

_**3 minutes later**_

Auntie Libby is juggling with knives. It is amazing to watch. I can't wait to see when she cuts her fingers off.

It is human nature to be fascinated by gore. That is why people went to hangings and beheadings and all those Medieval Watsits. But then, they didn't have TV in those days. And therefore they lived very sad lives.

I must remember to ask Mum and Dad what it was like back then.

_**1.00pm**_

I went upstairs for a bit of peace and quiet. Libby kept trying to talk to me and I don't really want to end up a Jail-Watsit like her. And I couldn't talk to Granddad because he was watching the Horse-Racing on TV. Not that I would want to talk to him. I would get the most awful string of abuse back. It is appalling from a pensioner. But that is what the world is like.

I didn't want to talk to Dad either; because he will try and be nosy about my life.

_**2 minutes later**_

Sitting in Mum's old bedroom. Well, actually, I'm nosing through her drawers. Oo-er.

_**4 minutes later**_

I have found some hilarious photos of her and Dad when they were teenagers about a millennium ago. They look so sad and naff. Mum's nose looks horrific.

_**2 minutes later**_

Oh my Giddy God!!! I have found some of mum's old diaries from when she was my age!!!!

I wonder what she has written??

_**4 minutes later**_

Mostly a lot of WUBBISH. But what can you expect from the days they played with baked bean tins??

_**1 minute later**_

Erlack!! Erlack!! I accidentally stumbled across a bit when Mum was writing about snogging Dad! And it was so full frontal and no details restrained. It was disgusting to the extreme. It was like Parental Porn!! Erlack a Pongoes!!

_**3 minutes later**_

I feel abused and dirty now. I don't want to read about my parents snogging. I have enough trouble running away when they snog in front of me. I don't want know the details.

_**1 minute later**_

Mum called Dad 'Dave the Laugh'. I can only assume it is because everyone laughed at him. At him, not with him.

_**2 minutes later**_

DAD CALLED MUM KITTYKAT!!! How crap and naff is that? Trés crap and naff.

_**1 minute later**_

Kittykat for Christ's sake.

_**2 minutes later**_

_Kittykat_…

_**5 minutes later**_

Dad came bumbling up to make sure I hadn't hung myself from boredom. He saw me reading the diaries and said, "Oy! You can't read those, those are your mum's private things!!"

I could barely look him in the eyes after reading the nitty and gritty stuff.

I shall on no account mention 'kittykat'.

I said, "You used to call mum 'Kittykat,"

Dad said, "I still do, just not when you are around,"

ERLACK!! I do not need to hear this!!!

_**5.00pm**_

I am back, unscathed amazingly. I have smuggled Mum's diaries back with me. All I can say is praise baby Jesus for oversized hoodies!!

_**5 minutes later**_

In ye olde days they used to called a woman's breasty business 'nunga nungas'. How disgusting is that?

Do you want to know why? It says here. It says it is because apparently if you pull a girls basooma and let it go, it goes nunga-nunga-nunga!

How incredibly sick and pervy

_**1 minute later**_

But it goes to show how out the loop they were in those days. Did the boys really think that our basoomas made those noises?

_**30 seconds later**_

You would think girls are musical instruments the way they spoke.

_**8.00pm**_

Soph and Vicky called for me to come out. Which I accepted, no questions asked. Anything to get out of Castle Mad. Mum and Dad were singing again. I don't think they are entirely normal.

_**1 minute later**_

Then again they both did drink a lot of Vinto Tinto at House Nicolson. I thought I was going to die on the journey home, we nearly hit a lamppost.

_**8.30pm**_

_**Sitting the park wall**_

I said to Soph and Vicky, "I was reading some of my mum's old diaries earlier,"

Vicky said, "Oh?"

I said, "You will never guess what they called women's breasty businesses?"

Sophie and Vicky shrugged.

I said, "Nunga Nungas,"

Sophie said, "Nunga Nungas?"

Vicky said, "Why?"

I said, "Because apparently if you pull one and let it go it goes NUNGA-NUNGA-NUNGA!!"

We had a laughing spaz to end all laughing spazzes.

_**1 minute later**_

Vicky said, "Beth, I get the drift your mum was a bit of a pervert,"

I pushed her off the wall. She got a bit stroppy because her new Christmas jeans got muddy. As I told her, it served her right.

She said, "I was only saying that is so pervy, the nunga business,"

I said, "Well it is your uncle who thought of it,"

She looked puzzled. I said, "Your mum is called Ellen, isn't she?"

She said, "Yes,"

"Well, the bit I read, Ellen is telling Georgia- my mum, that her brother calls breasts nunga nungas,"

Vicky said, "I didn't know I had an uncle,"

Soph said, "How can you not know you have an uncle?"

Vicky said, "My mums got severe agoraphobia and won't go out,"

Ah, that explains it. She hides behind doors when I come around. I thought I must have looked a bit rough or something.

_**9.30pm**_

We were parading around the streets singing at the top of our lungs. I think I am a marvy singer. I should be professional.

_**3 minutes later**_

Ooooh, we just walked passed Lucy Matthews and her mates and they said there was a party a few streets down and WHAT'S MORE it was a free for all and WHAT'S MORE it is Fiona Green party and hers are always trés coolio.

_**4 minutes later**_

Wow, it is groovy bananas here! There is loads of mistletoe everywhere and a Christmas Tree. I think Fiona must have persuaded her mum to go somewhere because I can't see her lurking anyway and trust me; she is not hard to find. She has a gigantibus bottom.

Why can't my Elderly Loons ever go out so I can throw a party?

_**1 minute later**_

Because they are selfish, that is why.

_**3 minutes later**_

Vicky went because she had to 'help her mum with her medication'. I think Vicky's mum is a little on the hypochondriac side.

I said that to Soph. I said, "I think Vicky's Mum is a little on the hypochondriac side,"

There was no answer. Because she had abandoned me on my ship of life and gone to chat up some boys in the corner. Typico.

_**2 minutes later**_

There is a boy watching me, actually. He has this really groovy gravy brown hair which is quite moppy. I sort of hung around under some mistletoe. Really casually.

_**3 minutes later**_

He hasn't taken the hint.

_**1 minute later**_

Still waiting for Mr. Gorgeous.

Then someone tapped my shoulder.

I turned around and there was this boy with really crap shaven hair. He said, "My name is Luke Knightly,"

I said, "Can I help you?"

He said pointing upwards, "Mistletoe," and he tried to snog me but missed and snogged my cheek. Erlack! Get off! Get off!

Before I could have a go at him, he ran back into the crowds. Mr. Gorgeous was sniggering to himself then disappeared into the crowds.

I went home.

_**10.30pm**_

Good Grief.

_**2.00am**_

Woke up from a dream in which Mr. Gorgeous had got me under some mistletoe and then he said, "Your nose…" and I said, "Oh, yes, I know it is big…" and he said, "No…it's glowing,"

And my nose was glowing red.

Like Rudolf's.

_**3 minute later**_

I really hope this was not a premonition-type thing.

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**So what do you think?? Can you figure out who is who's kid? It will get more interesting as the story progresses. Hopefully. **

**Trampy Mouse xx**


	2. The Flab Dance

**Yay, second chapter of Half Kittykat and Half Laugh!!**

**Ok, so far, children wise (there are a few peoples whose parents I don't want to reveal just yet, i.e. it is the shock value of finding out on some peoples, hehe)**

**Sophie: Jas and Tom**

**Fiona: Nauseating P Green and Phil the Nerd. Maybe. Or Spotty Norman, haven't decided. Yes, I know, she wouldn't have the surname Green but hey ho, what to do,**

**Vicky: Ellen…and Declan perhaps?**

**Lucy Matthews: Jackie (half of the bummer twins) and I don't know. Mystery man, probably. One nighter. **

**Luke Knightly: The Dame (Damion Knightly) and ???**

**That's it so far, I think.**

* * *

**The Flab Dance**

_**Boxing Day**_

_**11.00am**_

Sophie called. Apparently one of the boys from last night (Jack) seemed to rate her and asked her out to a date. She was all feverish and high pitched and excited. I asked her where, because the way she was talking you would think they were going to the bloody Ritz or something. She said that they were off to McDonalds. Honestly. _Trés Romantico. _Not.

I asked her whether her parents would approve; it is not like they do organic free range cheese burger at Mackey-D's. She said she doesn't care. I think she thinks she's a rebel.

_**1 minute later**_

Someone should tell her she isn't. She was the one that scored top marks in the last French test. That is not what I call a rebel.

_**Sophie's House**_

I found myself at Sophie's house helping her choose outfits for her gobsmackingly romantic date at Mackey-D's. Her Elderly Insane were downstairs working in the grocery shop. It smells divine down there, like an orchard…or a farm field just without the manure.

Our house always smells of what ever Mum decided to burn.

_**3 minutes later**_

Not to say she's a pyromaniac. She can't cook. Neither can dad for that matter.

_**1 minute later**_

Sophie was trying on a skirt about half an inch long. I asked her whether she stole it from a two year old. She got all huffy and puffy and red and ludicrous. I put my arm around her and I said, "Aw, don't be mad, Soph, I was only saying that, don't take this the wrong way, but you look like a prostitute in that skirt,"

That is when she stamped on my toes.

_**1 minute later**_

Note to self. Keep away from Sophie when she is wearing shoes. Owwwww.

**Midday**

Sophie's Mum came up from the shop downstairs. She's all smiley and normal but she has got an alarming fringe. She had left over mince pies from yesterday. Which she had made. Not Supermarket crap like we get at home. Which taste like socks.

Well, actually I wouldn't know because Harry ate the whole lot. He always eats everything. Even my dinner if a) Mum managed to cook and b) I didn't get downstairs in time to claim it. I am surprised I haven't died of malnutrition. I tried complaining about him to Mum and Dad but they always say he is a 'growing boy and needs his food'.

I wonder whether anyone ever said that Beth is a growing girl and needs her food.

_**2 minutes later**_

Probably not. And that will be why I am so short.

_**1 minute later**_

Still discussing Skirt Antics.

_**10 minutes later**_

We decided on a white off-the-shoulder top with ballet style pumps. I lost skirt-antics-wise. I tried to tell Sophie that no boy who would want her to look like she was fresh from a Brothel but there was no avail. She said, "Au contraire, petite chumlette, I think that is exactly what boys like,"

I scoffed bitterly.

She said, "Exactly how many boyfriends have you had Beth?"

I said, "Um…er," She had me there.

She said, "Exactly, boys like the more feminine look in a girl,"

I felt like I was going to explode, "What are you implying Sophie Jennings-if-that-is-your-real-name??-

"Yes, that is my real name,"

I ignored her. I said, "I can't believe you are saying I am masculine!"

She said, "I am not saying that. I am just saying that maybe you should wear skirts more often,"

I said 'Hmp'. I would have stormed out. But there was still some mince pies left and they were going eat me! eat me!

Yum, yum.

_**15 minutes later**_

Sophie made me put on one of her skirts and we sat on the wall outside the groceries. She was trying to prove her point that boys prefer girls in skirts to girls in jeans i.e. see how many lads would beep at us in their cars and such forth. More likely they will offer us money. And I don't mean the charitable sort.

I said that to her, I said, "People will start offering us money,"

She said, "I could do with a new pair of shoes,"

I looked at her in disbelief.

She said, "I am only joking, Beth,"

I said, "How can your parents let you out like that? They seem decent enough folk at least compared to mine. Surely they wouldn't want you wondering the streets as a tart,"

She said, "Oh, they don't have a problem with it. Mum said I can wear what I want skirt-wise, as long as I am wearing big knickers,"

I just looked at her.

She said, "I don't though,"

I was shocked in the most shocked way possible. I said, "You don't wear knickers?!"

She said, "Don't be dim, Beth, I mean I wear little knickers. Would you like to see?"

"No thanks, you Lez-"

Too late. Far too late.

_**1 minute later**_

Sophie keeps going on and on and on and on and on about her date tonight.

She said, "Jack was talking to me for ages. Did you see him? He was the one with the dark messy hair, the good looking one. Oh, come on, Beth! You must have seen him. He was really good looking, he was quite literally the best looking boy there,"

Au contraire. I beg to differ. I cannot imagine anyone better looking than Mr. Gorgeous but I didn't say this.

She carried on, "Anyway, Jack was dancing with me too, and he is a marvy dancer. We swapped numbers at the end of the night. He wanted to walk me home but I pretended I was getting picked up because I didn't want him to see I lived above a veggie shop. You don't think he'd go off me if he knew, would you?"

I mumbled something about it being who you are that counts. I should be a philosopher I am that deep.

She didn't notice my sudden philosophical-ness and carried on, "No, you are quite right aren't you? He likes me because I am me and it is because I am me he likes me, isn't that right?"

I just nodded even though I haven't got the faintest idea what she is talking about.

She carried on, "There was also this other lad Gary or Gareth or something that seemed to like me but he wasn't as good looking as Jack. You know, I think I am quite literally a babe magnet,"

I said, "Well, boys like me too,"

She wasn't listening. I could tell. Because I am bat woman.

I said, looking for a reaction, "There was this boy called Luke who snogged me under some mistletoe,"

She came out of Sophie-land and said, "Are you sure you didn't imagine it? I can't think why any boy in his right mind would kiss you,"

_**Home**_

I am not talking to Sophie.

She is very mean and so I stormed off. To let her contemplate her misdeeds. I can only be pushed so far. As Buddha said, "An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind' she has wounded my mind and must go and be attacked by wildebeest or something- god, I am getting far too philosophical today. I must have a mad dance to calm down.

_**10 minutes later**_

I CANNOT BLOODY BELIEVE IT!!! IT IS UNBELIVABLE THAT IS WHY!!

I am going to KILL Harry.

_**20 minutes later**_

Typico. Flipp-dipping Typico. I only pushed Harry down the stairs yet you would think by the way Mum and Dad reacted I'd attempted murder on him. They went ballistic. Even Dad. Which is rather like watching a cat not land on four feet i.e. it doesn't happen very often but it is hilarious to watch- mostly because he is not very good at it. Mum is though. I thought she was going to have to be taken to a secure unit.

I think pushing Harry down the stairs is perfectly acceptable pay-back for playing football with his mates in my bedroom but no one really cares about that. They are all too busy fussing over Harry. It is not like he has hurt himself. All the times I have forced to get violent with him has toughened him up. But of course he had to play it up for all he was worth and he was going, "Owww, I think I might have brain damage, where am I? Where am I? I can't walk, owwww, I think I may have broken my neck,"

But Mum and Dad didn't say 'stop pretending you silly moose'. Instead they were going, "Aaaaw, are you ok, love, come on, it's ok," and Dad picked him up to take him into the living room so they can put the pwecious invalid on the sofa. Harry stuck his tongue out at me from over Dad's shoulder.

I hate him so much.

_**2 minutes later**_

The short and short but also the long of it is that I am grounded.

Not that it matters, it is not that I have a life. Or anywhere to be. My best friend is a wannabe prostitute who is also a wildebeest(…or something) and my other so called mates may as well be dead to me because I have not be rung and apart from one tragic mishap I am invisible to the eyes of boys. And Harry's football has knocked my curtain pole down onto my bed but I am too depressed to move it.

Is there point in being alive?

_**5.50pm**_

Yessssss! I have just got a phone call from Vicky and she says that she and Fiona are going to the Christmas Fair thing that was set up on the park and would I like to go?

Er, YES.

_**2 minutes later**_

Now to persuade the Guard Dogs (Mum and Dad) that I must go out tomorrow…

_**6.00pm**_

But not quite yet. I went downstairs to have words but they were all over each other like a rash. It was extremely disgusting. It is the sort of things that I am going to have to have some sort of Brain Transplant in later life for.

I still feel sick about finding out about 'Kittykat'.

_**7.00pm**_

Put my curtain pole back up. I am literally Mrs. McFix-it. Which is probably a good job because knowing my luck I will never end up married and I will have to do all the DIY. Or I will be married to a lazy sod who just lies on the sofa and burps and farts.

_**8.30pm**_

In order to soften Mum up for tomorrow, I sat with her downstairs and watched X Factor with her. I like it because of the singing. She likes it because she reckons one of the boy singers are groovy bananas. It is appalling. Good job Dad isn't in here with us.

We have banned him from watching it with us because he only watches the auditions so he can laugh at the people who can't sing then gets bored and talks over the good bits.

Or tries to sing along which is horrific.

I can hear him and Harry (who, incidentally, has obviously forgotten he was on the verge of death) in the kitchen trying to do their idea of singing. It is awful. But so is Mum's if you get her going.

It is certainly not them I get my talents from. I reckon I am a changeling child.

_**2 minutes later**_

I have decided that I am going to audition for the X Factor when I am old enough. I am sure I will get through. Although knowing my luck I will end up in Louis' group. I would rather end up in Simon's Group. There is something quite Phooooar about him.

Even if he is about a hundred. And is quite mean.

_**5 minutes later**_

I told Mum that I would audition and she just laughed at me and got up. Which, personally, I find trés laughable indeed considering the sized of her breasts-nunga nungas as I supposed she fondly calls them. But I didn't say anything because I do like living.

_**Sunday 27**__**th**__** December**_

_**11.00am**_

Operation: Soften-Mum-and-Dad-up-so-I-can-go-out commences!

I got up at the crack of dawn for my day of good doing and brownie-point-earning and so forth. And also forth so.

_**15 minutes later**_

Went up to Mum first. She was ironing. Well 'ironing' i.e. she moans that she is slavey-girl and makes everything more creased than it already is.

I let her moan on at me for a bit and then I said, "Mum, I think you are a little too hard on yourself, why not have a bit of a sit down, put your feet up and I'll do the ironing,"

She said, "You will ruin it, Beth, and that is le fact,"

I looked at the shirt she was ironing. It had a big burn hole in the back. I don't think I could quite frankly ruin it more than she has but I didn't say this. I smiled a big smiley smile like a sweet smiling innocent daughter who doesn't want anything or isn't trying to soften up her parents. Then I said, "Oh, mum, you are such a teaser! How about you sit down and I'll make you a nice cup of coffee, instead, people as old and senile as you shouldn't work themselves too hard,"

She said, "Oh, yes, please, I am vair vair tired, that will be _trés_ nice Beth," and she went to sit down.

Then, just as I turned the kettle on she came back in saying, "What do you mean someone as old and senile as me???"

Ooops.

_**3 minutes later**_

Jesusss, Mum can get so ratty it is unbelievable like the most unbelievable thing possible. Over the smallest thing. I said to calm her down, "Mum, I don't think it is wise for a woman of your age to get so mad. It may be bad blood pressure wise,"

And she hit the roof.

(Not literally).

_**Midday**_

Will try the coffee-trick on Dad. He is probably a softer target than mum. I can usually more or less bully him into what I want.

Ho hum, ho hum, I am quite literally angel girl, boily water, stirry coffee, putty milky in, nicey nicey.

**6 minutes later**

Gave Dad the coffee. He said, "Alright, what do you want?"

Am I that transparent?

I decided to play it coolio, "Oh, Dad, you cheeky thing. Of course I'm not after anything. I'm just being nice and making you a cof-"

"What do you want?"

"To be let out tonight!!! Pllllleeeeaaaassseee, I'll be grounded an extra day in return! Please??"

He didn't say anything but just looked at the ceiling. I thought he was thinking so I kept quiet. And then he went over to the window and looked out.

I said, "Um? Dad?"

He kept looking out. Like he was looking for something. So I went and had a look too. Then he went outside. And started looking at the sky like a loon. I hovered at the door for a bit then went outside. It was bloody freezing!!

I said, "Dad, what are you looking for?"

He carried on looking for a bit and then said, "Flying Pigs,"

I said, "I hate you,"

_**6.00pm**_

Since the selfish oldies that are sadly my parents are too downright and darn rootlin' tootlin' mean to let me go out and have what I fondly call a life I am just going to go out and NOT TELL THEM!!!

I am a genius!!

_**7.00pm**_

Getty ready Getty ready.

I am wearing my jeans and red tshirt. And a hoodie. And a coat. And scarf. And gloves. And a hat. Because it is cold and that is a fact.

I mean it. I think I may have a touch of pneumonia coming after following Dad outside after the flying pigs HILARIOUS (not) gimmick.

I bet Miss. Wannabe Prostitute will wear one of her ridiculous skirts. I bet she will freeze to death. And everyone will see her tiny knickers on the rides.

I dithered a little bit whether to wear the make up I got for Christmas. I mean, as much as I don't like it I might bump into Mr. Gorgeous again.

But then I thought what is the point?? It is dark and stuff and knowing me I will get it smudged all over my face. And then tomorrow I will be a lurker farm.

_**8.30pm**_

I have my bribe money that I got off Dad for spendies on tickets and such.

I waited until Mum and Dad were too busy erm, you know, snogging and stuff (Erlack, you'd have thought they'd grown out of it by now) and slunk out the house. Yesssssssssssss, I am ninja girl of the night.

**14 minutes later**

Met Fiona and Vicky outside Fiona's. Fiona said her mum might have one of those bands put in her stomach to stop her eating because she is bordering on morbidly obese. Although Fiona can talk; she's a little podgy herself. I told her that. She said she's just cuddly and did a dance called the Flab Dance which made me laugh like mad even if it was a little disgusting.

But then Vicky started talking about her hypochondriac-y mum and they both spoke health and medicine and so forth and forth so and I felt a little left out. In fact, I was nearly glad to see Miss. Prozzie Knickers.

Almost.

She was with that Jack who took her own the romantic date of the century for a burger and fries. He was kind of good looking, if you like the dishy dark sort.

I like the moppy brown hair mysterious stranger sort.

_**The Fair**_

We got to the fair. There were quite a few of those spinny rides that go ready fast with flashing lights and loads of those stalls like hook-a-duck and fling-a-frog and stuff.

I wanted to go on the rides but Vicky wanted to go on Hook-a-Duck (because she wanted an inflatable hammer) and Sophie and Jack wanted to get candyfloss and giant lollies and stuff. Fiona wasn't talking to anyone, she was just Flab Dancing to the music of one of the rides.

_**4 minutes later**_

Sophie won and we got candyfloss. I can't stand candyfloss, it is like eating sticky cotton wool but everyone likes it so it's hard to say no.

Sophie and Jack were sharing theirs. It was so sad.

_**9.15pm**_

I was still nagging to go on a ride. I mean, what is the point of coming here if you aren't going to go on the rides? You might as well go to a candyfloss shop. Or stay at home.

I risked life and limb to be here and I am probably going to be slaughtered when I get back home so I must enjoy my last taste of freedom.

_**1 minute later**_

Why will no one go on a ride??

I asked Fiona and she said she didn't like fast rides so I asked Vicky but she says that her Hypochondriac Mother says that rides can cause Brain Damage or something.

There was no point asking Sophie. She was all girly and drooly over Jack. If you say anything to her she just smiles at you stupidly. It is sooo obvious that she hadn't heard a word.

_**3 minutes later**_

Stuff it. I am going to go on a ride on my owny if my so called mates don't want to have fun.

They hung around outside the ride and I queued up. It was one of those that swing you around really really fast in little pod things. I did start to feel a little sick when I was getting on but I wasn't going to let them see. I was doing the waving and you-are-missing-out type thing. That is why I didn't bother turning around when this lad said, "There's no other seats, can I sit by you?"

I just said, "Yeah," and carried on sticking my tongue out and so forth and forth so at the others.

Then the lad said, "Hey, don't I know you??"

I turned around. Oh buggeration.

It was whosit…my-name-is-Luke-Knightly. Mistletoe boy.

Grrrrrrrrrrrreat.

_**Getting off the ride. **_

_**4 minutes later**_

God, I think I may have brain damage. I couldn't walk in a straight line.

Literally. But of course Luke of the Mistletoe decided it was his duty as my pod-partner to hold my elbow to stop me from falling over. I wasn't that dizzy but I let him even though he did have the most crappest shaven hair.

I thought he might do the wise thing and bugger off when we got off the ride but he decided to follow us. Well, me. He just kept trying to talk to me. I tried telling him politely to get lost but he just laughed and linked arms.

What does he want??

_**2 minutes later**_

Candyfloss, that is what.

We all brought seconds of candyfloss even though I can't stand it. Luke of the Mistletoe brought mine.

Why?

_**11.00pm**_

Sophie and Jack sloped off.

The rest of us went on some more rides now my so called mates have livened up. Luke will NOT leave me alone. My mates keep raising their eyebrows. Shut up raising your eyebrows.

_**5 minutes later**_

Went on the stalls for a bit. There was a dart stall and Luke wanted a go. I bet he's crap.

_**3 minutes later**_

Oh blimey! As much as I hate to admit it, Luke is good at darts. Very good. Bordering on Very Very Very good.

_**1 minute later**_

Oh my Giddy God!! Luke has scored Top Prize!! You know, the huge teddies and stuff.

Vicky was hinting like mad for an inflatable rubber hammer (God knows why she'll need one) but Luke asked for this huge pink teddy. And gave it to me (!)

Although, I actually wanted the giant SpongeBob Square pants.

_**11.30pm**_

Vicky said, "I have to be somewhere, if you know what I mean," and she and Fiona went off. But they were looking between me and Luke like mad llamas so I knew exactly what they mean.

And that is not going to happen.

I have my giant teddy to defend myself if it does.

_**Midnight**_

Oh my Godddd! I can't believe it! It is unbelievable in the most unbelievable way that is why!!

I saw Mr. Gorgeous!!

Me and Luke of the Mistletoe were walking, and I had the giant teddy firmly between us and then he was just there, in a rides queue. God he is even more groovy close up.

He said, "Alright, Luke?"

Luke said, "Fine, thanks, how you, Ryan?"

Ryan. Ryan. Ryan. Ryanny Ryanny Ryan. R. Y. A. N.

Ryan said, "Great thanks. How about you?"

He was talking to me. He is really quite fit looking. He had fab brown eyes and quite a big mouth. The more the merrier. I bet he is an excellent snogger. He was smoking a fag. I don't think that smoking is that nice but somehow he made it look coolio.

Then I realised about five centuries had gone past and I was just staring at him like an idiot.

I managed to get a grip (ish) and I said, "Yup, yup, finey and dandy, yes, yep,"

Everyone just looked at me.

What was I on about?

Then Ryan said, "Hey, Luke, I'm throwing a party at mine, New Year's Eve, fancy coming? You too," and he winked at me. Ohmygod, he was winking at me.

Then this pretty girl came up behind him. She is in 6th Form and she's half something or rather. And I can't remember her name. But it didn't matter!! Because I was in the presence of Mr. Gorg-

Then something terrible happened. Ryan put his arm around the girl and she was all giggly and I realised with a stab (a stab at something I think may have been my heart. Or my pancreas) that they were together.

Then Luke said, "Come on, Beth, I'll walk you home,"

I was too depressed to say no.

_**Walking Home**_

Luke kept trying to talk to me on the way back. Asking whether we should go out sometime. He is unbelievably keen. I wasn't really listening so I just said yes to shut him up. I think I may have ended up with a date on Tuesday but it can't be helped.

And what's more I don't care. My life is over.

We got to mine and he stopped and turned me so I was facing him. But I was armed with my teddy bear to stop any canoodling.

But he took the teddy off me (oi!) and put it on the wall.

Oh god, he's going to try and snog me again. And probably miss like last time.

Do I want to snog him?

No I do not. He is not Mr. Gorgeous. He is a twit, twit, twit, twit. A twit with crap shaven hair. Why does he have it like that? Does he think it's cool? It's not. It makes him look like he's been attacked by a lawn mower and-

Crap, he snogged me.

_**5 minutes later**_

I suppose it was ok. But how am I supposed to know? It was sort of my first proper snog. It's not like I know what the standard is.

Yet, I'd much rather it was Mr. Gorgeous' mouth I was attached to.

_**10 minutes later**_

I went inside my house after Luke had buggered off. It was hard to get the teddy through the door. I had to dump it in the kitchen because it was too hefty to carry through. And I was starting to feel a little sick because of all the candyfloss.

I thought I was going to suffer the Spanish Inquisition getting in but all was silent.

It makes you wonder.

_**3 minutes later**_

My supposed-to-be-guard-dogs had fallen asleep on the sofa watching TV. That is why there was no Spanish Inquisition. Dad had his head resting on mum's 'nunga-nungas'. Like they were a pillow. He ought to watch it, they are huge and his head could sink down and he could lose it in the voluminous volume of them and-

Urgh, I really do feel sick.

* * *

**Lol, so there is chapter 2! I can't wait for my main plot twist to come in!!!!!!!**

**If you haven't read the abovey authors note, it has a list of some of the characters parents. But bear with, some I am not revealing yet. Although you may have guessed. **


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